


Two Cokes

by death_frisbee



Series: Coco Teacher!AU [4]
Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Absent Parents, But his tias are the best, Family Bonding, Gen, Hector's mother is terrible, Minor Character Death, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, teacher!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 12:05:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13763796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/death_frisbee/pseuds/death_frisbee
Summary: Héctor was never really sure if Tía Victoria liked him or not. She didn’t yell at him, but she always had a face that said she disapproved of whatever he was doing (even when he wasn’t doing anything bad!) The general consensus was that, yes, she did disapprove of him. But it wasn’t personal, because she disapproved of just about everyone.~A flashback chapter for The Way You Keep Me Guessing/Teacher!AU, where Héctor realizes that he's Tía Victoria's favorite.





	Two Cokes

                Héctor was never really sure if Tía Victoria liked him or not. She didn’t _yell_ at him, but she always had a face that said she disapproved of whatever he was doing (even when he wasn’t doing anything bad!) The general consensus was that, _yes_ , she did disapprove of him. _But_ it wasn’t personal, because she disapproved of just about everyone.

                Berto and Gloria agreed that she was a lonely, bitter old woman. Enrique was gentler (he always was); he said that Victoria was… _introverted_ (which prompted a conversation about what ‘introverted’ was, because how could Quique expect a _seven-year-old_ to know what that meant.) and it was better to leave her alone. After all, Héctor could be…a little _noisy,_ and he didn’t think Tía Victoria would appreciate that _._

                He took Quique’s suggestion to heart, and he steadfastly avoided Tía Victoria if he could manage. He already got in enough trouble with Tía Elena, he didn’t need to add to it.

                It worked fairly well for a year. He’d watch her curiously in the shoe shop, where she dyed and shaped leather like it was as natural as breathing, but he kept a safe distance away. Every now and again she’d look at him and frown slightly, which sent him ducking away before he could get any sort of lecture.

                One day, though, it seemed his luck had run out.

                “Héctor.”

                Tía Victoria was never very loud, but she had a way of making her voice carry through the shop even amidst all the clicking of sewing machines and banging of hammers. Héctor froze as he heard her voice, leather scraps still in his arms. That was it. He’d done _something._ But what? Had he played his guitar too loud last night? No, she must have found out how he climbed the tree in the courtyard when Elena told him he couldn’t. _Oh_ , but what if it was about—

                “ _Héctor.”_

                The shift in Victoria’s tone as she repeated herself was very slight, but definitely sharper. Héctor swallowed, tossing out the scraps before meekly making his way over to her. He closed his eyes and braced himself for disappointed words and punishments and…

                He peeked his eyes open as she pressed a couple coins into his hand.

                “Run down to la tienda and get two Cokes,” she said, returning to shaping her sheet of leather into a handsome loafer.

                Héctor glanced down at the money in his hands, then looked back up at her. “Why me?”

                “Because I can’t leave this and you’re here. So _vete,_ niño.”

                “ _Sí!_ ” Héctor scrambled out as quickly as possible.

                When he returned, he carefully set the two bottles beside her on her table, as well as the leftover change. She thanked him absently as she pressed at the leather. He waited a moment, waiting to see if she needed anything else, then started to walk away.

                “ _Oyé_ , niño, you’re leaving without your drink?”

                Héctor turned. “What?”

                Victoria gave the leather a quick pat, then pulled out a metal shoehorn, easily using the hole in the handle to pop open both bottlecaps. She held out one of the bottles.

                “This one’s for you,” she said matter-of-factly before taking a swig from her own bottle. Héctor took the bottle with wide eyes, then took a sip.

                “Drink it in here, just be sure you’re careful. Elena won’t let me hear the end of it if she knows I gave you caffeine.”

                Héctor nodded “Gracias, Tía Victoria.” He hopped up on a stool and spent the next several quietly drinking his Coke and watching Victoria work. When he finished, she merely set his bottle aside and shooed him off.

                The same thing happened a few weeks later, and then again a few weeks after that. Soon enough, once a month Héctor would run down to la tienda and pick up two Cokes, then sit and watch Tía Victoria work. Sometimes she talked about her process (“You see the way I’m stitching, niño? This is the only way you can be _sure_ they won’t fall apart in two months.”), sometimes it was some of the chisme from town (“Señora Guzman’s daughter is still seeing that gorrón. They’re going to end up married, just you watch.”), but more often than not she stayed silent.

Héctor stayed silent too—first out of fear of bothering her, then because…well, that’s just what he did in his time with Tía Victoria. And it was kind of nice, having a moment away from the other children and Tía Elena making sure he wasn’t getting into trouble. _And_ he liked not having to make conversation like he had to with his tías’ friends. Tía Victoria never prompted him to talk; either she talked at him or there was no talking at all.

                Except when he came in, two Cokes already in hand, with a letter.

                She eyed the letter curiously as Héctor hopped up on his stool. “Who’s that from?” she asked as she popped the bottles open.

                “Mamá. I was worried it got lost in the mail, it was taking so long. But it’s here!” He grinned as he took a swig of the soda before tearing the envelope open. “Last time she said she’d have a date for when she’d come visit.”

                He glanced up, just catching the way Tía Victoria’s lips pressed together. “Why don’t you read it out loud?” she asked. “I never hear from that sister of mine.”

                Héctor nodded, taking another drink of his Coke before he held up the letter. “ ’Mi querido Teto, I got the pictures you sent. Muy alto! You must be almost my height now. Right now I’m in El Distrito, if you can believe it!’” He paused and looked up at Victoria with wide eyes. “Wow, El Distrito!”

                “Hm.”

                “ ‘Oh, you would love it here, Teto. So many lights, and the _music!_ Ah, you’d fit right in with your guitar—don’t think I didn’t notice that in the pictures.’ “ He sent another grin up at Victoria before he continued. “’One day I bet you’ll be a great musician just like your papá…’” He suddenly puffed out a breath, reading quickly over it. He looked up at Victoria, catching her raised eyebrow. “I’ll read the rest, just…Mamá gets so _wordy_. I just want to see…ah!” He held up the papers with a grin. “‘Now, mí corazón, I know you’re wondering when your Mamá will come by to see you. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten! But it…may be longer than we thought…’” Héctor’s face fell as he read the rest of the sentence silently. He swallowed hard, then set the letter down on the work table. Victoria paused her stitching to look up at him.

                “So she’s not coming,” she said flatly. Héctor shook his head.

                “Not for a few more months. She’ll tell me in the next letter when that is.” He looked down at his hands for a moment, then picked up the letter. “Do you want me to read th—”

                “ _No._ ” Héctor sat up straight, surprised at the edge in his tía’s voice. “If she thinks that she can just…” She stopped as she glanced down at Héctor, then huffed a breath through her nose and glanced up at the clock. “Well. I won’t finish this order if I keep talking. Mira, niño, _this_ is how you stitch a tongue.”

~

                There’s one time when Héctor went to Victoria without a Coke in hand. It was already a dangerous idea, he knew, made even _more_ dangerous because it was right in the middle of her telenovela hour. _Everyone_ kept clear of her during this hour—Berto and Quique had both recounted with absolute terror the time they’d burst in while playing, and the look she’d given them was enough that they knew five years had been shaved off their lifespans. Even Tía Elena gave her space, warning Héctor from the time he was young, “Don’t play too loudly from four to five. Your Tía Victoria gets cranky if she’s bothered during her stories.”

                And he had. He’d never endured the wrath of an interrupted Tía Victoria. But today…he needed quiet. No more “pobrecito”s or “It’ll be okay, mijo”s or “I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that; you know how your mamá is”s. He could handle lectures and scoldings; he couldn’t deal with _pity._  

                He quietly stepped into the room, hands fidgeting together. Victoria didn’t look up until she heard the sniffle he’d been trying to hold off. He braced himself for _the look_ ; instead, he got a headshake and a tut.

                “Have you been _crying_?”

                He swiped at his cheek with his palm. “ _No._ ”

                Victoria sighed, then beckoned him over with one hand while she muted the television with the other. “Sit.”

                He did as she asked. She didn’t look at him.

                “Crying does _nothing,_ niño. No amount of tears is going to make her change.”

                “You know what happened?”

                “Of course I know, she’s my sister.” She crossed her arms. “I’m surprised she finally admitted that she doesn’t know when she’ll be back.”

                Héctor swallowed, sinking back into the sofa. “She’s not actually coming back, is she?”

                “Probably not.” He looks up at Victoria’s frankness, eyes wide, but she continues without acknowledging him. “And it’s just as well. I’d probably kill her if I saw her again.”

                “Don’t do that!” Héctor protested, then swallowed. “This…it’s just how she is. I don’t think she can help it.”

                Victoria closed her eyes with a sigh, but said nothing. Héctor watched her anxiously for a moment, then started to get up. Clearly he’d annoyed her, and he—

                He stopped as he felt a hand rest on his head.

                “Niño, that attitude will get you eaten alive when you’re older.” She let out another long sigh, then pulled her hand back and unmuted the television. Héctor looked up at her, waiting for her to shoo him out. She didn’t. He glanced up at the screen, where a man was waving a gun.

                “What’s happening?”

                “Benicio is trying to avenge his brother’s death.”

                “With a _gun_?”

                “ _Por supuesto._ ”

                Héctor pressed his lips together. “Can I…stay and watch with you?”

                Victoria’s eyes flicked to him, then she settled back. “Only if you don’t tell Elena.”

                He nodded and settled back. His first instinct was to cuddle close, like he did with Tía Elena when they watched the old movies she liked. But he was _well_ aware that Tía Victoria _was not_ a cuddler. So he stayed put, watching the telenovela and not even making a grossed out face when two of the characters kissed.

                The telenovelas, like Cokes, became a staple in their relationship from that point on, a quiet respite from primos and shoes and letters that started going unopened. They were _especially_ fun when Héctor realized that apparently _everyone_ had a gun in this show, and as he grew older (and Victoria stopped slapping her hand over his eyes), he found he didn’t mind the romantic subplots all that much, either. Sometimes they laughed over the dramatics, sometimes they sighed over lovers being reunited after a fight. But, to their respective dying days, both he and Victoria _swore_ that they _absolutely_ did not cry over this silly show, _especially_ not when Ignacio finally succumbed to the cancer that had been plaguing him for three seasons _._ All the tissues Elena found after that episode were from…failed attempts…to make paper flowers. _Obviously._ Definitely not tears.

~

                Héctor had never been the picture of innocence. He was constantly sneaking this way or that, ducking his way out of chores and homework or climbing up things he was expressly told _not_ to climb. He was, as Tía Elena gently called him, _un poco travieso_ (or, as Tío Franco less-gently called him, _una piedra en el zapato_ ), always in some sort of trouble. But he got worse when he was fourteen. Well, more accurately, he got worse when Ernesto turned _eighteen._

                After all, Ernesto was his _best friend,_ even if he was an adult now. And Ernesto shouldn’t have to stop doing cool adult things while he waited for Héctor to grow up. So Héctor just had to…grow up a little faster. It was little things that he got in trouble for at first. Staying out too late, sneaking out of his window at all hours, skipping out on class once or twice to go play in the Plaza…nothing _terrible._

                At least, until Héctor climbed in through the window with six (unlit!) cigarettes in his mouth.  When the lights suddenly flicked on, he realized in that moment his life _may actually_ be threatened by an oncoming chancla. If it was Tía Elena who caught him, he’d get a speech, a swat that’d leave him smarting for days, and far too many disappointed looks. If it was Tío Franco, he’d get a grumble as he was tugged inside and a whole _week_ of house arrest and shoe cleaning. He stayed frozen, half in the window, as he debated which one he’d rather deal with.

                Though, now that he saw who was walking toward him, he might not have to deal with either. He might be in for something much worse.

                “Ha, ‘uenash no’es, día Hicoria,” he mumbled around the cigarettes, putting on the best smile he could.

                Victoria crossed her arms as she looked down at him, mouth in a straight line and eyes disapproving. The hesitant smile he’d put on quickly died, and he carefully pulled one hand from the windowsill to take the cigarettes out of his mouth.

                “I-I know this looks… _bad._ Like, _really, really_ bad. But Tía Victoria, surely you see your _favorite_ sobrino and think…”

                “ _Out._ ”

                Héctor’s face fell. “O-out?” Was she…kicking him out? Ay, _dios_ , he’d never been in this much trouble. “Tía…Tía Victoria, I…”

                “ _Vete._ I’ll meet you in the courtyard.” As Héctor let out a quick breath of relief—at least he wasn’t going to be _homeless_ —she added, “And bring those cigarettes with you, niño.”

                 By the time he shimmied back out the window and made his way to the courtyard, Tía Victoria was already there—arms crossed, foot tapping, glasses flashing as they caught the faraway light of the house. A recent growth spurt had gotten Héctor nearly to her height, but in the darkness, she somehow seemed ten feet tall, and Héctor slumped as low as he could get while staying upright as he approached her. What was she going to do? Belt him? Yell at him? Do that awful, awful headshake he’d seen her use on Berto a few times?

                “So where’d you get them?”

                Héctor hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. He let it out with a _whoosh_ , then shifted from side to side. “A friend.”

                She didn’t even bother asking which friend; they both knew _exactly_ who it was. “Why? You want to smoke?” When Héctor didn’t answer, she leaned forward, “ _Well_ , niño?”

                Héctor looked away, giving a little nod. “It’s what musicians do. They’re always smoking in interviews.”

                “ _Ah._ It’s what _musicians_ do. And you want to be a musician.”

                Héctor watched her warily, waiting for the laugh and mockery for such an out-there dream. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d heard it. Gloria had laughed for a full minute; Berto had drummed at the air with his hammer, calling “Mira, mira! I’m a músico just like Héctor!” Even Quique had gently mentioned that, while there was no doubt that Héctor was an exceptional guitar player, it was safer to keep working at shoes. So it wasn’t like being mocked about that was _new._ But even so, it would hurt _so much more_ coming from Tía Victoria. He couldn’t say why. It just _would._

                Luckily, it never came. Instead, she pulled out a lighter and flicked her thumb against it. The flame cast her face in orange light as she raised her eyebrows.

                “Go on, then. Smoke like one of those musicians.” She plucked one of the cigarettes from Héctor’s hand, bringing it to her lips and easily lighting it. “There, you try.”

                “ _Really_?”

                She shut her eyes as she exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Would I tell you to otherwise? You’re too smart for such tonto questions, niño.” She flicked the lighter again and held the flame up toward him. “Suck in the air through the cigarette, that’s how you light it.”

                Héctor nodded, carefully holding one of the cigarettes between his fingers as he did what she said. He took a deep breath…and promptly coughed out a lungful of smoke. His eyes stung as he wheezed and shook his head. And, for the first and only time, he heard Tía Victoria _laugh._ A loud, shrieking laugh that echoed through the courtyard; it would have been hilarious if Héctor wasn’t dying.

                “Ay, isn’t that _so cool_?” she asked. “Just like those musicians!” She smirked at him, holding her own smoke between her fingers. “Go on, finish it. You don’t want to waste your friend’s goodwill like that; cigarettes aren’t cheap.”

                He stood up straight, then took another drag and coughed it out. His mouth burned, his throat felt scratchy. This wasn’t _nearly_ as cool as he thought it’d be. He started puffing faster in an attempt to get it over with quicker, but that just made his stomach churn and his head spin. By the time he was halfway though, he was sick to his stomach and shaking his head pitifully.

                “No…no _más_ , Tía Victoria,” he rasped. Victoria raised her eyebrows.

                “Oh, but the musicians…”

                “I don’t wanna be like those musicians! I can…I’ll do it without smoking!” He looked up at her with another little cough, and he _just_ caught the ghost of a smile cross her face before she lifted her foot to stub out her own cigarette on the sole of her shoe.

                “You know, I _could_ make you smoke those other four…”

                “ _Tía Victoria, please!_ ”

                “…but I think you’ve learned your lesson, niño.” She took his cigarette and stubbed it out as well, then set a hand on his head. “Now get to bed.”

                “You won’t tell Tía Elena, right?”

                “No. And change your clothes before she sees you. She raises an awful fuss about smoking.”

                Héctor nodded, one last cough escaping from him as he pulled away and headed inside. Later—after he’d been teaching for a few years—he’d think of all the ways that this plan could have backfired. He could have choked, or gotten addicted, or any number of terrible things. But…well, considering he couldn’t so much as _look_ at a cigarette without a twinge of nausea after that, he supposed it worked.

~

                The next time Victoria found Héctor in the middle of the night was nearly two years later. Oh, he still got in trouble just as much—if not more—than before, but tonight was one of the rare ones where he was actually _in bed_ at a decent hour as opposed to sneaking into cantinas and playing in the square at all hours of the night. So it was a little rude that someone jostled him awake.

                “Oyé, niño. Despierta.”

                “Mmmm.”

                _“Héctor._ This is _important._ ”

                Héctor grimaced as he opened his eyes, then sat up straight as it clicked that _Victoria_ was the one who had woken him up.

                “Tía, why are…” He shut his mouth as she shushed him.

                “Come with me.” As he climbed out of bed and started to follow her, she turned and pointed a finger right in his face, nearly making him trip backwards. “And don’t you breathe a _word_ of this to Elena. _Claro?_ ”

                “S…sí, claro.” He rubbed his eyes as he followed her through the silent home, just barely remembering to duck under a few newly-too-short doorframes. He frowned as they walked into the shop. “Uh, Tía Victoria, what are we _doing_?”

                “You’re too smart to ask such tonto questions,” Victoria said over her shoulder. “Stay here, I’ll be back. While I’m gone, figure out what day it is.”

                Héctor rolled his eyes as he dropped onto one of the stools, chin firmly planted against his palm as he looked around the darkened shop. His eyes flicked up to the clock on the wall. _Ave_ María _Purísma_ , it was _one in the morning_. Tía Victoria had a strict “No one talk to me after nine” rule. What was she playing at?

                His eyelids had just started drooping when a loud clink of glass on wood made him jump. He looked up with wide eyes as Victoria arched an eyebrow at him, setting a second shot glass down in front of herself as she sat. She waved her hand at his.

                “Feliz cumpleaños.”

                Was she being sar— _oh! Right!_ Yesterday had been the 29th, so, as of 1:25 am on November 30th, he was officially sixteen years old. He gave her a wide smile.

                “Gracias, Tí—”

                “Don’t thank me yet. Drink first.”

                He blinked, then looked down at his glass. He picked it up with a frown, giving the clear liquid a tentative sniff before looking up at Tía Victoria in alarm.

                “Is this _alcohol?_ ”

                “Por supuesto. It’s tequila, if we’re being specific.”

                Héctor’s eyes darted between the glass and his tía, growing wider with each glance. He set it down and looked up at Victoria pleadingly. “No, no, Tía Victoria. Look, I learned from the cigarettes. I did! And I know Tía Elena’s told you that I’ve been sneaking into cantinas but I _swear_ I never drink and..”

                “ _Basta._ ” Héctor’s mouth shut sharply as Tía Victoria held up a hand. “I didn’t think you were. This is tradition.”

                “Tra…dition?”

                Victoria shrugged. “Well, loosely speaking. If I’d had children, it’d be a tradition to give them their first drink on their sixteenth birthday. Since I don’t have any, you’ll have to do, niño.”

                Héctor stared at her for a moment, mouth open but unable to say anything. How should he even respond? Should he thank her? Was this a test to see if he’d resist alcohol if pushed? Or was she really just trying to share a new tradition with her sobrino?

                He was saved from making a decision by Victoria holding up her glass in a toast. He tentatively raised his as well.

                “Salud,” she said, then knocked back the shot easy as anything. Héctor tried to do the same.

He wasn’t nearly as successful.

He just barely managed to choke down the shot, and promptly coughed and shook his head as he felt it burn all the way down to his stomach. Tía Victoria let out a little breath that was almost a laugh as she set her glass down.

                “Still want to thank me, niño?”

                Héctor shook his head. “This is a rotten present,” he rasped, rubbing his chest as if that would help the burning. He pulled a face. “I can’t believe you’d treat your _favorite_ sobrino this way. On my _birthday_ of all days.”

                “Who said you were my favorite?”

                “I bring you your Cokes. None of your other sobrinos do that.”

                “And then I have to listen to you yowling with your guitar in the courtyard.” Victoria peeked over her glasses. “And, if I recall right, you wrote a _very_ disrespectful song about me a few months ago.”

                “And I heard you laughing the whole time.” Héctor smirked. “So I’m definitely your favorite.”

                “ _Basta._ ” Victoria shook her head as she took off her glasses, letting out a sigh. “Héctor, you’re an awful troublemaker and a complete nuisance…”

                “Oh, tía, that’s the nicest thing you’ve—”

                “…but you have a good heart. And if you’re not careful, that heart will get you into even more trouble.”

                Héctor’s comeback died on his lips, and he stared at Victoria with wide eyes. She didn’t look at him, instead fiddling with her shot glass.

                “You’re too trusting, niño, and one day I think you’ll be hurt beyond fixing.” Her eyes flicked up to him, steely and serious. “Stupidly optimistic people like you are rare, and the world’s full of rotten people who try and take that optimism for themselves. I don’t want that to happen to you.” She leaned forward. “So you need to be strong, niño. Don’t become like the rest of us. Claro?”

                “S-sí…”

                “I _mean it_ , Héctor.”

                “I know! A-and I will be. I mean, I won’t be?” He looked up at her in confusion, and she shook her head with a sigh as she set her glasses back on her nose.

                “We’ll talk more about this when you’re older,” she said as she got to her feet, walking over to give his head a push. “Get to bed, I won’t have Elena hounding me for you being late to school.” She glanced down at him. “Unless you want another drink?”

                “ _No!_ I mean…no, gracias, I’m okay, Tía.”

                Victoria gave a little puff that was _almost_ a laugh, then pushed his head once more before heading back to the main house. “Then get to bed.”

                Héctor nodded and waved his hand as she walked out, then looked back down at his glass. Well. Awful drinks and unusually intense talks—what a way to ring in sixteen. And after that talk of traditions and worrying about him, maybe Tía Victoria actually…cared about him? Maybe even more than she did with his primos.

                _Pfft._ Héctor couldn’t keep a straight face as that thought crossed his mind. No, this was still Tía Victoria. She probably had this same talk with Berto, Gloria, and Enrique when they were sixteen.

                Probably.

~

                Whatever other talk Tía Victoria had hinted at never came. The year that followed was a turbulent one, mainly due to one thing: Héctor didn’t want to go to university. After all, _Ernesto_ didn’t go, and they’d talked enough for Héctor to decide that school wouldn’t help him with what he already knew. Of course, Elena didn’t feel the same way; she told him again and again that it was either shoes or university. He’d snap that she wasn’t his mother and couldn’t tell him what to do. She’d tell him he was being an ungrateful mocoso and that she was going to smash his guitar herself. He’d yell that he’d leave the moment he was eighteen and never look back before accentuating his point with a door slam. She’d give a frustrated “ _Santa Maria!_ ” before announcing that he was grounded and if he didn’t start working on applications _right this second_ , there’d be a _very strict_ music ban in the house.

His primos, of course, took Elena’s side. Even Quique pulled him aside once or twice to say that he really should think a little harder about his future instead of what he wanted to do in the moment. Victoria, as usually, was the exception, but not in any way that was particularly helpful to him. For her part, she stayed by the sidelines as Héctor and Elena fought—not offering either any sort of support.

So how could they expect him _not_ to go to the only person who understood his side? Ernesto looked at how the _now_ could better them in the _future._ And if Héctor had to sneak out to go to gigs, then so be it. It’d do far more for him than any dumb _essay_ would.

                And that’s just what he was doing tonight. Normally he’d be able to shimmy out of his window without much fuss, but a particularly bad fight with Tía Elena earlier that day had left his guitar confiscated and trapped in the front room’s closet. But by this point, Tía Elena and Tío Franco would be settled in the den, Berto and Carmen would be putting Abel to bed, Gloria would be in her room, and Enrique and Luisa would be out showing Santa Cecilia that they were newlyweds. That left Héctor a prime window of time to sneak in and grab his guitar.

                The first half of his plan went without a hitch. Guitar in hand, he quietly started making his way back to his room. He’d be out and playing to crowds in no ti—

                Wait.

                There was someone he hadn’t considered.

                _Victoria._

                He froze as he heard her cough from the kitchen, along with the sharp sound of cards being dealt. He clutched his guitar to his chest, hardly breathing as he tried to regroup. Victoria had her strict “No one talk to me after 9pm” rule, _why was she up_? His breathing stopped altogether as he heard Tía Elena’s very familiar sigh. She was up, too? Were they _trying_ to give him heart failure? Very carefully, so as not to be seen, Héctor turned his head to look into the room. Victoria was out of sight, but he could see Elena as she looked over her cards with a shake of her head.

                “Where did I go wrong, Vico? I thought I was doing well with him,” she said as she rearranged her cards.

                “You’re being too hard on yourself again.”

                “But I never thought he’d get like this! He’s always been…”

                “He’s always been trouble.”

                Elena looked up with a sigh. “But never so much. And he’s never been so… _disrespectful_.”

                “He’s a teenager, Elena.”

                “My children never talked to me like that!”

                “Technically, he’s not your child. I’m done, your turn.”

                Elena shook her head as she set down a couple cards. “I know. He shouts that at me every chance he gets, it seems.” She squinted slightly as her mouth set in a hard line.

                “Are you _crying_?” Victoria’s voice was sharp, and Elena shook her head.

                “No. I’m just… _frustrated._ ” She shook her head and waved toward Victoria, telling her to take her turn. “I try so hard.”

                “You’re trying too hard. Remember all the fights you had with Mamá? These aren’t any different.”

                “Yes, they are, Vico. I was never so…”

                “You said you planned to elope with the first man you saw so you wouldn’t have to listen to her nagging anymore.”

                “That was different.”

                “Was it?” Even if Héctor couldn’t see Victoria, he knew the exact way she arched her brow and looked over her glasses at Elena. Elena squirmed slightly, and Héctor could picture the small, triumphant smile on his tía’s face. “ _Stop_ trying to force him. The ni—” Victoria stopped suddenly as she exploded into a fit of violent coughing. A pained expression crossed Elena’s face.

                “Está bien?”

                “Sí, sí,” Victoria wheezed, then gave one last cough before sucking in a breath. Elena shook her head.

                “I wish you’d see a doctor about that cough, Vico.”

                “I take my vitamins, I’m fine.” Victoria cleared her throat once more, then tapped her cards against the table. “Anyway, give the boy some space. If he’s kicking and screaming when you pull him along, he’s not going to get anywhere.”

                “But I worry that he’ll take aft—”

                “Do you really see her at _all_ in him?”

                “I still worry! She didn’t start being…the way she is until she was eighteen. I worry one day he’ll sneak out and never come home. Or that…”

                “That he’ll come back long enough to drop a child on you?”

                Héctor squirmed against the wall. He didn’t want to listen anymore if this was the route they were going to go. As he started to move, he paused as Victoria spoke again.

                “He’s a smart boy, Elena. He’ll figure out which path is best for himself. He’s not like her. Give him some credit. Your turn again.”

                He glanced back toward the doorway, swallowing hard as he stayed in place a moment longer.

_He’ll figure out which path is best for himself._

                Would he? As much as he loved performing in the cantina or the plaza—so much that he’d probably amassed over two years’ worth of groundings—the idea of flitting from place to place had never really sat well with him. Too many hazy childhood memories of moving from hotel room to hotel room, too many clear memories of return addresses from all over Mexico. But this was the only path to success, right?

                Well…

                He had a few minutes before meeting up with Ernesto. Maybe writing a little bit of an essay wouldn’t hurt.

                Ernesto was, of course, _furious_ that Héctor was late. What was the point of doing homework if you were just planning on quitting school after graduation? But there was no time for him to do anything but accept Héctor’s mumbled response of how he was avoiding getting into more trouble.

                The gig went well, even if Ernesto called him “Teto” thoughout the whole thing, and the house was dark and quiet when he snuck back home. He may just be able to get in without a…

                Wait.

                He hadn’t left his table lamp on when he left. Oh _no…_

                He took a deep breath, then opened up his window before shimmying in. Once inside, he braced himself for an angry tía or tío waiting for him. But…his room was empty, and there was no sound outside his room. A quick peek out of his door confirmed that he was, in fact, in a quiet, sleeping house.

                He couldn’t remember the last time he’d successfully snuck back in.

                He let himself have a little moment of victory, then went to shut off his lamp. He paused as he saw the Coke bottle beside it, as well as the little note set on his half-finished essay. He frowned, squinting slightly as he tried to read it in his lamps dim light.

                _Finish this by morning, and I won’t tell Elena you were out all night. You’re a smart boy, you can manage._

                _Ah._ He _had_ been found out.

                He let out a breath, then shook his head with a little smile as he set his guitar down. Well, he supposed this wasn’t too bad a price to pay to keep from being in trouble. He cracked open the Coke, silently thanked Tía Victoria, and got to work.

~

                It took a lot more essays, a lot of volunteering, a lot of visits and auditions, and a long, painful break with his best friend, but come springtime, _four_ letters graciously congratulating Héctor Rivera for being accepted to their university’s music program were hung up in the shop (at Tía Elena’s insistence. He would have been fine tossing them.)

                Six months later—after a prolonged goodbye where Tía Elena tearfully told him how proud she was, Tío Franco gave him a pat on the back and a “bien hecho,” and Tía Victoria just set a hand on his head for a moment before nodding for him to leave—he made the trip to his new home in Guadalajara and took his first step toward his degree.

                Despite Ernesto’s warnings against it, university was _fun._ Héctor was meeting all sorts of people, and living in the city was _infinitely_ more exciting than Santa Cecilia ever was. Not to mention that he was thriving in the music program, and he could hardly contain his excitement as the orchestra’s first performance of the semester approached.

                When it came, the air was crackling with excitement backstage. The strings section wolf-whistled the brass when they came in (despite the fact that everyone wore the same black dress shirts and slacks), the percussion gave a drumroll as the first violinist walked in. Héctor had performed enough to know when the energy was good, and this was going to be an _excellent_ performance.

                He was doing a few last minute warm-ups to make sure his guitar was tuned when his phone buzzed in his pocket. There was an immediate chorus of “Ooooo”s as he pulled it out, glancing down at the ID. Huh, Tía Elena.

                “Oye, Rivera! You know you’re supposed to shut that off!” one of the cellists called. He waved her off.

                “It could be an emergency,” he said with a grin and a shrug, quickly getting to his feet and heading to a quieter spot backstage before he answered. “Hola, Tía. Wishing me good luck before the show?”

                There was no reply on the other end, and Héctor frowned slightly as he shifted. “Tía Elena?”

                The quick sound of Elena clearing her throat finally came over the phone. “Mijo, I’m so sorry. I know you’ve got your performance…” Her voice was wavering in a way that was…very not like Tía Elena. He stuck his free hand in his pocket.

                “I’ve got a few minutes before I need to go on.” He swallowed before he tentatively asked, “Everything okay?”

                Another terribly long pause. “It’s Vico…Tía Victoria. You remember what the doctor said this summer?”

                “S-sí.”

                “Well, she’s had a relapse. I…mijo, I know you’re at school, but…I don’t know if she’ll last th—”

                “I’m on my way.” There was no hesitation, and Héctor was surprised at how calm he felt. “Just…look, tell her I’ll _never_ forgive her if she leaves before I get there, okay? She’ll know I mean it. See you in a few hours.”

                He hung up before Tía Elena could say anything else. He needed a car. He didn’t have one. Someone here had to—

                “Rivera? You all right?”

                His head shot up as the cellist from earlier made her way over to him. “ _Sole_ , you have a car, right?”

                She blinked. “I…well, yeah, but…”

                “I need it. Please, I’ll fill it up and get it back to you first thing tomorrow, but I…I _need_ it tonight. Right now.” His throat tightened as he added, “My tía, she’s not…I have to go see her right now.”

                “ _Now?_ Héctor, we start in ten mi—”

                “ _Please._ ” He was embarrassed at how raw and desperate the word came out, but that didn’t matter. Sole’s face shifted.

                “But…the performance…” She bit her lip as she met his eyes, then shook her head. “Maestro’s not going to be happy about this,” she said as she dug in her purse. “You’ll have to deal with that when you get back.”

He couldn’t force enough air out to respond, only giving her a grateful look and a nod as she handed him her keys. He couldn’t quite remember how he got from the concert hall to being on the road, but it didn’t matter. On a good day, it took two hours to get from Guadalajara to Santa Cecilia.

                He made it in an hour and forty-five minutes.

                He held it together as he burst into the hospital. He was composed as he asked where he could find Victoria Rivera. He was just starting to twiddle his hands nervously as he walked down the blinding white hallways. By the time he’s outside of her room, he’s shaking and looking for his tía and primos. They must have already visited. So it was just him.

                Okay. Okay. He just…had to step in.

                Why was it so _hard?_ He swallowed, shaking his head as his eyes began to sting. He couldn’t do this. He _had_ to do this. He’d made Tía Victoria promise to stay, after all. He paced in the hall for a moment, swiping at his eyes and trying to get himself together. He could do this. He co—

                “Niño, are you going to actually _come in_?”

                As always, Tía Victoria’s voice carried despite its softness. Maybe she was better than Tía Elena thought. He sucked in a breath and walked in.

                _Oh._ No. She wasn’t better at all.

                Héctor hung in the doorway for a moment as he stared at her, too shocked to stop. The diagnosis had come before he’d left, and—being the stubborn woman she was—she’d refused treatment. She’d been a little thinner, a little more haggard then, but now… _ay_ , where was the tall, proud woman Héctor had been equal parts in awe of and terrified by for all these years? Certainly it wasn’t the frail, gaunt woman in that hospital bed with tubes in her nose, in her arms, _everywhere._ He refused to believe it.

                At least, until she gave him an eyebrow raise that was _entirely_ Tía Victoria. She beckoned him over—hand shaking, but still commanding—and he obediently dropped down in the seat beside her. He kept his mouth tightly shut, throat tight and not trusting himself enough to speak without a sob. It was fine. Tía Victoria liked silence. If he could just…

                A sniffle escaped him before he could stop it, and she looked up at him.

                “Are you _crying_?”

                “ _No,_ ” he shot back as he swiped at his eyes. Victoria gave a long, wheezing sigh, shutting her eyes and staying so still Héctor’s heart dropped.

                “I told you, crying does _nothing._ I don’t want your stupid tears.”

                A choked sound that was _almost_ a laugh escaped him, and he swiped at his eyes again. Victoria peeked an eye open.

                “Roll down your sleeves before Elena comes back,” she murmured. “They couldn’t handle two Rivera women in here.”

                Héctor frowned slightly, then glanced down and grimaced as he caught sight of black ink peeking out beneath his rolled sleeve. He quickly unrolled them as Victoria let out a little breath that was almost a laugh. “She’s coming back?”

                “Por supuesto. She wouldn’t have left if it weren’t for the babies.” Victoria gave a long sigh and shook her head faintly. “Berto and Carmen just had their girl.”

                “Rosa, right?”

                “And did you hear about Enrique and Luisa?”

                Héctor perked up slightly, brow furrowed. “Are they about to have a baby, too?”

                Victoria nodded. “It’s going to be a _zoo_. I—” She gasped in a breath, then gave a long, gurgling cough. Héctor froze up, eyes wide, as he watched her nearly choke. He started to reach for the attendant button, but she gripped his hand with surprising strength and stopped him.

                “I’m _fine._ Ay, niño, you’re almost as bad as Elena,” she rasped, shaking her head.

                “I’m trying to help. You’re…”

                “You want to help? Get my coin purse.” He pressed his lips together, but did as she asked. Once he pulled it out from her bag, she added, “Now go down a floor and me my Coke from the vending machine. They haven’t let me have one since I’ve been here and I need it.”

                “If they don’t let you have one, you probably shouldn’t…”

                “There’s enough for you to get one, too,” she said, sharp enough to cut him off. “So _vete_ , niño. Don’t keep me waiting.”

                Héctor looked at her for a moment, then down at the coin purse. After a moment, he chuckled and shook his head.

                “It’s a good thing I’m your favorite,” he said, then got to his feet. He looked at her for a moment longer as he heard her sputter and wheeze, but when she waved her hands at him, he quickly made his way out.

                The hospital was a _maze_ when you didn’t know where to go, and Héctor considered it practically an act of God that he was even able to _find_ the vending machines. Plus, for how updated this hospital was, he still had to give the machine a good kick to get the two Cokes. At this rate, the doctor would be back, and Tía Victoria would _never_ get her Coke.

                He finally made his way back to the next floor up, and was nearly bowled over by a team of nurses that ran through. It looked like they were heading the same way he was…they didn’t stray the entire walk back.

                That didn’t mean…

                He picked up his pace and ran with them, skidding to a halt as he saw the nurses head straight into Victoria’s room. He ran up to the doctor, insisting that that was tía in there and he needed to be with her. But the room was too crowded; authorized personnel were the only ones allowed at the moment. If Señor Rivera could please just wait outside while they did what they could for his tía…

                So he waited.

                He was the one who gave the news to Tía Elena when she came in twenty minutes later. He was the one who sat with her as they filled out sheet after sheet of paperwork. Neither of them cried, of course; if Tía Victoria hadn’t wanted their stupid tears before, she certainly wouldn’t now.

Héctor waited by the door quietly as Tía Elena said goodbye to her sister, trying his best to avoid looking at Tía Victoria. He lingered as Elena finally stood up straight and made her way out. He tried to will himself out to follow her, but found himself wandering to the bedside instead. He still did his best to avoid looking at her, eyes flicking nervously around before he finally shut them and sucked in a breath.

“Gracias, Tía,” he mumbled, “for everything.” He gave her the kind of short nod she would have given, then opened his eyes and set the unopened Coke on the bedside table. It’d get thrown out, of course. She’d think that was a waste.

                But, well, he wouldn’t be her favorite sobrino if he never got Tía Victoria her Coke.

               

 

 

                 


End file.
